#Growing Your Own Grape

[allthingssoulful-garden]

Started picking the grapes off the grapevine wall this afternoon. Ran out of crates not even halfway through it and was reminded just how much I dislike picking grapes.

[wildrungarden]

5/5/24 ~ Last transplant of the day. Corbaci & Atomic Grape. No more. For awhile 😅

I haven’t had the extra time with work and school to treat them as I should. So before I start school back in a couple of weeks — I’m taking care of business 😆

Getting these babies to where they need to be 💪🏻

[faaun]

.

[julochka365]

15/9.2023 - picked a load of grapes from the greenhouse

[dulcedelashay]

I dream of being surrounded by fresh fruit. I imagine the smell being like snorting a huge bowl of fruity pebbles..but better <3

[monstersholygrail]

You had no idea why out of all the students in your History class, your Orc Professor had chosen you to be his TA. You were nearly failing the class and weren’t sure you were really interested in the history of medieval clubs. The class was so not what you were expecting it to be about so your interest had been lost for like, a long time now. He also made you do all this super hard work like grade papers you didn’t understand. But hey, it gave you the answers sometimes so it wasn’t all bad.

Plus your professor was super freaking hot. You were positive his arms could crush you like a grape and his big squishy pecs could suffocate you. You wanted him so damn bad. So you didn’t even really mind all the icky boring work. Especially because when you didn’t get something, which was often, he’d come up behind you, his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear, and help work you through it. You wondered what else he could help you work through.

So after class when your professor asks you to help bring a big pile of exams that need grading back over to his house, you of course agree to it. Being in the city, there were barely any people who actually had cars. So you weren’t surprised when your Orc Professor leads you out of the school and down to the subway, half the pile of exams in your arms.

But you were surprised about the fact that the subway car was basically full as you both walk in. Just about everybody was standing, holding onto a rail and crowding around each other. You wanted to weep. No way could you carry all these papers for the entire ride.

“Back there, an open seat!” Your Orc Professor points out, though you can’t see it. His ginormous height clearly an advantage in situations like this.

A spark of relief shoots through you at his kindness. Hot and sweet? What a combination. But when he takes the seat for himself, you raise a brow. He shifts the papers in his hands and pats one of his thick thighs.

“C’mere and sit on my lap. That way we can both relax for the ride,” he rasps, his demand sending a heat through you.

Your pussy gushes with arousal and the moment you straddle one of his thighs you can’t stop yourself from clenching down around nothing. The subway shoots forward a few seconds later and you’re pushed back into your Professor’s chest. His free hand immediately wraps around your wide waist. You try and stay deathly still, face growing red. You shouldn’t find this so fucking sexy but you can feel the heat radiating off your pussy and onto his thigh.

If there was any doubt left he could feel your heat it dissipates instantly when your Orc Professor tightens his arm around your plush waist, only to lift his leg, pressing his meaty thigh harder against your pussy. A small moan leaves you, and before you have the chance to die in horror, Orc Professor growls lowly in his chest.

A sharp gasp puffs out of you as your Professor starts bouncing his leg in time with the rapid shaking of the subway car. Each jump of his leg hitting your clit just right. You arch into it, moving in tempo and grinding down on his thigh. Every rock of your hips has waves of pleasure pulsing out from your fat soaked cunt. You can feel yourself leak onto his beige slacks and you relish in the stain that’ll be left when you stand. Leaving your own mark on him in anyway you can.

The subway car rocks, shaking roughly with its speed and it sends your body up and down his rock hard thigh. Your throat aches with the restraint of holding in your moans as you grind your clit roughly into the material that separates you from what you really want. You throw your head back, eyes glazed over in indescribable pleasure and meet his intense and lustful stare. It has your belly tightening and you grind down even harder.

“Go on and cum for me like the pretty little slut you are. Just like I know you do f’me in class,” he purrs in your ear.

Your eyes widen in shock, never realizing he had known what you were doing all those times behind your TA’s desk. How you’d watch him teach, the way his shirt would strain against his muscles, and you couldn’t help but touch yourself to the sight. You thought you were so subtle every time you came in class. Guess not.

With his permission, you explode all over his thigh, creating an even bigger mess left on his slacks. Your jaw drops and before you can make a peep your Orc Professor is crashing his mouth against yours in a sloppy kiss that only makes you cum even harder. Body shaking against his you let the waves of ecstasy sweep over you.

The ding of the subway breaks up your kiss and you look up in a daze to see the car unloading passengers who are at their stop. Orc Professor gives a directing pat to your pussy and your body jolts in his arms. He juts his chin forward.

“This is our stop. Good thing too or I would’ve had to bend you over and fuck you raw in front of everyone.”

He pulls you up off him, leaving your weak body to fend for itself. You eye the stain on his slacks with pride and stumble after him like a fawn. Glancing around you, you start to wonder what it would’ve been like if this wasn’t your stop and you feel yourself getting all turned on again. Who can blame you when you have the world’s sexiest Orc Professor?

[fading-event-608]

A fig tree for pixel dailies.

"Figs are planted in most Palestinian cities. However, it is most common in two districts, Nablus — especially in the village of Tell — and Ramallah — namely in Silwad, which became known as Im-Qutteen (mother of dried figs). Other villages also have names relating to the fig, such as Teeneh (fig). There are also flat areas called masateeh referring to the places where figs are dried to produce qutteen.

The fig has long been linked to Palestinian cultural heritage because it is nutritious and filling, and thus a staple of the Palestinian diet. It was known in Palestine as far back as the Canaanites. Palestinians have their own terms for the fig: while it is forming, the fruit is taqsh, then faj and then ‘ajr. Other used terms are nafal and thbeel.

Old traditional sayings reflect the importance of figs in Palestine. For example: ‘I tasted the first fruit, I hope my life has a long route’; ‘Eat the figs from the early season and the grapes from the late season’;* and ‘If we have qutteen (dried figs), we are safe from hunger.'"

-from The Palestinian Museum which took that info from 'A Garden Among the Hills: The Floral Heritage of Palestine'

Trees, would it be olive trees (which I also have a drawing of) or fig ones are important in Palestine. Just like in other countries, they provide shade, fresh air and produce. But in Palestine, they are also a symbol of resistance - as long as family's tree is growing, they are growing too; as long as the tree is alive, they are alive too.

When Israeli occupiers takes Palestinian's homes that they've built over multiple generations, they take their trees that they groomed too. When IOF drops bombs on civilians, they take trees with them. They uproot the trees, they burn them - because those trees remind them of people they've killed and whose land they have taken.

It seems like the world is slowly growing numb to cries for help; it seems like people are closing their eyes and covering their ears to not see the Palestinian blood on their screens, to not hear them scream. And Israel sees that and continues it's aggression on Lebanon. After all, if they can get away with a year (76 years) of genocide, why not start another one?

Please take any action you can. Protest, boycott, keep your eyes on Palestine and please, please, please donate to Palestinian fundraisers. I have spotlighted one fundraiser, for Falastin's family evacuation funds from Gaza that she organized in late June - it is still very far away from it's goal.

There are 24 family members that depend on that fundraiser. They need not only evacuation funds but also money to buy basic necessities like food and medicine that are very expensive in Gaza right now. Recently Falastin started hearing them talk about waiting for their fate because the funds this campaign gets daily are not enough to ease their suffering and cover evacuation.

Please, do not let it happen. Please, donate and check conversion rates before you do as:

10$ = 103 SEK

25$ = 257 SEK

50$ = 515 SEK

100$ = 1,030 SEK

I've talked about this fundraiser before numerous times, a lot of info can be found on this post [here] or [here].

Vetting info: #282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [here], #957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [here]

I do semi-regular art updates (last one [here]) and accept commissions for proof of donations, please dm me for info as my art blog was terminated recenty.

[st4rbwrry]

   𝐾𝐼𝑆𝑆 𝑀𝐸 𝑇𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝐼’𝑀 𝐵𝐿𝑈𝐸.

꒰ armin takes his pretty girlfriend on a picnic in an enchanted forest.꒱

🫧 𐀔 . . . 1.4k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, established relationship, sub / dom, profanity, pet names, unprotected penetrative sex, we’re in luvvv, outside indecency, love bites, praise, kinda shy reader, smoking, kreampie, minors aren’t welcomed ! reblogs + comments are appreciated! <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . this been in the drafts since 2022 y’all. a lil sum.

a pastel baby blue dress clings tight to your smooth skin, looking like the prettiest cottage core girl. frills on the shoulders and bust sitting low to accentuate your perky chest. love handles and tummy pudge swallowed by the soft material. armin couldn't keep his eyes, or hands, to himself. rubbing all up on you throughout your entire picnic date. fresh air blows through the trees and the bright views of sunlight beam across the blue lake where pure white doves swam in silence. armin had found this mythical location by driving around one day. it's quiet and reserved, deep into an enchanted forest.

the two of you sat on a blanket sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the food armin neatly packed. lots of fruits because you loved them. strawberries, raspberries, pomegranates, green grapes, apricots, and peaches . . . you name it. overdoing it just a bit, but he knows it’ll be eaten by this week. this was breakfast, the time now around eleven in the morning, so while you got ready he prepped the food. heart shaped pancakes, waffles, turkey bacon, pork sausage, scrambled cheese eggs and of course never forgetting your orange juice.

to make it cuter he brought a glass vase and filled it with water and multicolor roses he bought from the flower shop. you ate so much food your stomach bloated, unable to eat anymore. armin lays on his back with you to stare up at the sky and watch the trees blow, the weather perfect for the occasion. the sun hitting your skin serenely. you rest your head on armin’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as he massages your back in gentle circles, nearly falling asleep because you’re so at peace.

“i’m so glad we did this,” a yawn escapes as you smile sweetly at him, rubbing his stomach over his white tee.

armin presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering it before mumbling, “me too.” soon, digging into his jean pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. tapping the plastic box to release a stick. your body moves with the forearm he brings together to light his cig, flicking the lighter twice and satiating his need.

“i needed a break from life. so, thank you, love.” the softness in your voice makes the man's heart beat twice as fast. he smiles at you after turning his head the opposite way to blow out smoke, knowing you hated it in your face. being at close proximity right now was less irritating since you're elated at the moment. you could care less because he's comfortable, and it makes you feel the same. you could never get him to quit no matter how hard you tried. never argued with him about it. minor debates but he gave valid points so you laid off it.

“i figured it'd be nice to escape for the day. it's upsetting we have to return to reality tomorrow. but when i'm with you, it always feels . . . free.”

armin brushes a curved knuckle over your cheekbone, your eyes glued to his own.

“i feel the same way.”

“i say i love you all the time. but do you really understand it? how deep it is?”

you curl your lips inward, pondering on his question. more like a statement.

“i know you love me. you show it more ways than one. i think that's meaningful overall.”

fluffy blond hair with gold hues covers his angelic baby blue eyes, reaching up to tuck some of the wavy ringlets behind his ear.

“tell me you love me, then gimme a kiss.”

your face grows hot from his demand, growing nervous. you sit up briefly to grab a peach to bite into and distract yourself, more like hide your face because you were smiling so hard. this happens to be the second time since he's first told you he loved you. it makes you shy even still, the rush of heat coming to your cheeks from the intense glare he gives you, waiting for you to say it. you don't know why it felt so hard to utter. it's clear you love him, but maybe it was the large commitment of the word . . . the vulnerability, the devotion, the forever tie that scared you.

"tell me you love me, or i'll make you say it, ꒰♡꒱ ."

and make you he does.

his breath is warm on your neck, tongue following to lick a bold stripe over your skin with his fingers indented into the flesh of your cheeks and jaw. your face is upturned, head resting on his shoulder, back to his chest as you rely on his body for your balance. your thighs are spread wide, holding yourself open with your unoccupied hand, gripping under the bend of your knees, whimpering in the breezy air as his hips interact with the round of your ass, fucking you from the side fervidly. his moans are light, dancing in your ear while you claw into the picnic blanket beneath you two, clutching the grass and dirt in the wake. tuning into the lewd interaction of his heavy dick pounding into you, tits bouncing out of the enclosure of your dress.

“i can’t hear you, ꒰♡꒱,” armin grits his teeth, his lips on your jaw now, kissing away and grunting as he raises his hips to fuck you deeper, thrusts steady but rough. you’re feeling dizzy, whining from the baritone of his voice. “i didn’t make myself clear enough?”

“n-no. . . ar—min. mmph,” while denying, there’s a crack in your voice as you try your best to speak, moans rumbling in your throat, your tummy jiggling from his harsh pace.

“then tell me, tell me,” armin’s voice is a whispered plead, his jeans to his knees and his shirt pulled up to his midsection, skin scorching against your own.

you’re soft, and small. his big hand with veins protruding goes from your face to your chest, tweaking your nipples that spilled out of it’s cups alluringly, before spanking them with the pads of his fingers. tweak, spank, tweak, spank. it’s a notion that has you drooling, and sobbing pathetically. he’s trying to upkeep his composure, trying not to bottom out and lose his sanity. you’re too cute.

“i love youuu,” you finally cry out, ragged moans falling out in shorts gasps, tears coaxing and the pressure in your tummy building.

“fuck, there you go, sweetie,” his excitement shows through the way his dick slips out of you, both of you gasping from the loss until he slaps your clit with his dick, your juices sputtering out of you with each wet pat pat pat. armin draws his hips back slightly before sliding back inside easily, digging his fingers into the back of your thigh you held up and rolled his waist to fuck you harder.

each pound is harder than the previous, his jaw widening as he chokes on his moans and catches your throat with his mouth, tongue lolling out occasionally and his teeth following suit. your head is tossed back entirely, his arm going around your shoulder to cradle you, falling back on the ground. your thighs press tightly together, and you hold onto his arm while his middle and ring fingers thrum intricately over your puffy clit to watch her squirt.

armin hisses with skaken moan. “say it again, ꒰♡꒱.”

“i love you, armin.”

“again,” he’s biting at your neck again, your mouth agape from the combination of that and the head of his dick kissing your sweet spot.

“b-baby, g-god. i love you.”

“ooh, shit,” armin then pushes your left thigh flat to the ground, your body twisted as he goes to level himself above you in push up form, dropping his dick into you with steady, hard pounds. his voice grows weak, moans whiny as he cums deep inside of you, and you follow not long after, squeaking and clutching onto his wrist planted by your head. the softness of your ass bouncing back onto his hips is entrancing. his ass flexing when he grinds into your pussy.

“oh my god,” those pretty strands of blond sway in front of his face, giggling and lowering his body to rest his chest on your side. repeatedly leaving kisses to your flushed cheeks, neck, even your forehead. unable to move at all.

“i really love you, i swear,” the pads of your fingers brush over his pink lips, overly sensitive at the moment so you definitely felt like crying. a high pitched hiccup interrupts the moment, and that only makes armin roll his lips inward before bursting out a laugh.

“you’re so cute,” he gives you an eskimo kiss before smooching your lips. “i know you do.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life. 🫧🍓

[cringe--is--dead]

𝐵𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝒟𝒶𝓎

Various WBK boys x AFAB!reader (incl. Kiryuu, Kaji, Umemiya, Nirei, Sakura, Hiragi, Choji)

CW: cat-calling and objectification (none by the WBK boys), threats of violence (obvious)

𝑀𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈…

༺═────────────═༻

…𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉

𝒦𝒾𝓇𝓎𝓊𝓊 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓀𝒾

Your suits were matching— the same shade of blue, your bikini top accompanied by a little, pink blow between your breasts. Your boyfriend had taken you out shopping before the group summer trip, pulling out his wallet to buy several matching outfits before you could protest. You’d learned rather quickly that protesting was useless.

You were accustomed to some stares— Sakura turned a shade of red only he could turn when you took off your bathing suit cover, and Suo had teased the poor kid relentlessly. Some other stares, Kiryuu was realizing, you were oblivious to. The Furin boys were respectful, teenage boys, sure, but respectful.

The random teenagers and men staring at your body, not so much. Kiryuu, however, wasn’t the least bit worried.

“Darling,” You looked up questioningly at your boyfriend, pausing where you were rubbing sunscreen onto your arms, “Let me get your back.”

You smiled at him, and despite how long you two had been together felt your own cheeks warm slightly. You finished your arms, turning to lay on your front on your towel. He was gentle, warming up the sunscreen before applying it to your back, all but massaging it into your skin.

“How did I get so lucky?” His voice was teasing, fingertips dancing under the bikini string.

“Mitsuki,” You scolded, and he laughed.

Relaxing in your towel, you didn’t see that Kiryuu’s gaze wasn’t on you. One of the groups near you were growing rowdy, one of them louder than the rest. He had heard their conversation, lewd remarks about your body. He was quick to move, staking his claim subtly as he massaged the sunscreen onto your back.

The one that had moved, most likely to ask for your number or give you a stupid pick up line, had made the mistake of making eye contact with Kiryuu. He wasn’t Suo, but he knew he was intimidating.

One palm was flat against your lower back, dancing dangerously close to being too low. You hummed quietly, unaware of the silent stare down happening behind you. Kiryuu raised an eyebrow, waiting for the stranger to make his decision.

He seemed to think, before breaking eye contact, face curling into a scowl, before he turned back to his group.

“Mitsuki?” He was quick to smile, the soft look he reserved just for you returned, “Can we go in the water now?”

“Whatever you want, darling.”

𝒦𝒶𝒿𝒾 𝑅𝑒𝓃

Kaji was starting to wish he had brought a whole pack of suckers, and based on the worried side eyes that were sent his way, he wasn’t alone on this. The only person who seemed oblivious to this, or just entirely too trusting, was you.

You, who was wearing one of the newest bikini sets you ordered from over states. You, who was hitting around an inflatable ball with some of his first years, laughing in the waves. You, who was drawing attention from way too many random guys around, loitering on their beach towels or wading in the water far too close.

He felt the familiar crunch of his current sucker, he was so zoned staring— glaring— that he didn’t realize until now it was a grape flavored one.

Gross.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, turning slightly to see Kusumi holding his screen towards him. It took a few seconds to see through the glare of the sun, but he finally saw the message.

you okay?

He could nod, could lie and say he’s fine— but this was Kusumi, bastard reads him almost as well as Hiragi. So instead he shrugged, rolling the candy stick in his mouth, already itching to grab another one.

His music was low, loud enough that the random chit chat didn’t make its way to him, but low enough that he could hear you or the others if he focused enough.

He was up on his feet in a flash, though, watching as a random volleyball splashed the water near you, far too close to have been a coincidence. Some random guy was waving, smile too big as he made his way over. He was all teeth, all but leering over you as you handed him his ball. You were being polite, but you were clearly trying to get him to leave.

Kusumi shot him a worried look, one that read somewhere between don’t make a scene and we’ll back you up if need be. In all honesty he was between those too.

But this was a trip, something fun for everyone, and if he swung first and started a beach brawl then the day would end early. So he instead made his way to the waters edge, the cool waves lapping at his feet as he watched.

You were trying to get back to whatever game you, Nirei and Kiryuu had been playing, and the man wasn’t taking the hint. Taking his headphones off, the loudness of the wind and waves crashed over him for a moment, before he regained his focus.

“Hey,” His voice was sharp, cutting through the one sided conversation easily.

You both turned, your face lighting up when you saw him, sweet voice calling out his name in excitement. You made your way out of the water towards him, and he briefly made eye contact with the two first years, sending a curt nod their way. They understood, backing off to their other friends.

“Can we go get ice cream?” You wrapped your arms around his bicep, pressing close to him.

In any other circumstance he’d have been rather flustered, you were pressed so close, he could feel the softness of your breasts, but he could also feel how fast your heart was hammering. He didn’t look down, eyes maintaining where they were staring down the unnamed man.

“Sure.”

The guy scoffed, arms crossing as if he were unimpressed by the display before him. Kaji cocked a brow, “Something the matter?”

He put his hands up, mock surrender, “No, nothing.” His tone was amused, as if goading Kaji to start something.

His fists were clenched at his side, jaw uncomfortably tense, and if the sucker had lasted any longer it definitely would have shattered.

The man seemed to grow uncomfortable, “Look dude, we were just chatting, alright? Nothing wrong with that.”

He just hummed in response, the noise low and unamused. You squeezed his arm gently, voice low, “Ren, it’s okay, I’m fine,” It took a second for him to look away, but when he glanced down at you, you smiled, small but genuine.

He stared for a moment, before sighing, “Yeah, whatever.”

You stepped away, gently tugging at his arm to follow you, and he moved, allowing you to maneuver him however you wanted. He didn’t spare another glance behind him, knowing full well that coward was going to go back to his group, spouting nonsense he could have easily knocked out of him.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and as the rage died down in him, he felt the tips of his ears warm up, no doubt red now, “What?”

“Nothing,” You laughed quietly, “Just thankful I have my knight in shinning armor.”

He tisked, feigning annoyance at your statement. He’d never call himself a knight, that seemed too noble, too good.

“I’d kick his ass if he kept talking…”

You laughed louder this time, “I know. But I didn’t wanna let an asshole like that ruin our day.”

Not him, not Kaji ruin it by throwing a punch. He felt a bit of tension bleed out of him, your words simple but holding so much weight. The little ice cream parlor was near, and with you leaning against him, comfortable knowing that he’d protect you from unwanted advances, he felt more confident in his actions.

You trusted him to take care of not only himself, but you as well. To protect you should it come to that. And if you let him, gave him a sign, he’d beat anyone who even looked at you funny.

“Oh— should we get ice cream for the others?”

“Not unless they’re paying.”

𝒰𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓎𝒶 𝐻𝒶𝒿𝒾𝓂𝑒

The beach weekend getaway had been in the works for months at this rate, and Umemiya was rather proud of himself for how well it had gone so far. The beach wasn't too far from town, wasn't too crowded or boring, the weather was perfect.

Later in the evening, he, you, and a few others had ventured out, having found an arcade nearby, colorful neon lights pulling them all in. Everyone had grown rather excited, running around with coins and tickets, little prizes in hands.

He had won you a few trinkets, proudly handing you the stuffed animals, watching with delight as you held them delicately, naming them each, one by one.

Umemiya had offered to go get you a drink, watching from the counter as you moved over to skeeball, bringing Sakura with you as you attempted to teach him how to play. Though it looked more like you were working on preventing him from climbing the machine and just throwing the balls in at this rate.

“C’mon man, just wait for her to walk off.”

The conversation happening to his right caught his attention, they were loud, demanding of observation. He glanced them over, men near his age if not a bit older, laughing and talking. He brushed them off, gaze turning back to where you were laughing, Sakura’s face bright red as the ball rolled back down the slope.

“Wearing shorts like that, she’s asking for attention.”

His thoughts paused, processing what was said. One quick glance made him painfully aware that those men were staring in your direction.

“At this rate I say we just go over, that pipsqueak does look like he’d be able to do much.”

He set your drink down on the counter, not wanting to spill the liquid and make some poor worker clean up his mess. Walking over, he set a smile on his face, taught and forced. Leaning between the two of them, he wrapped his arms around their shoulders, “Yeah, she looks pretty great doesn’t she?”

The men jumped, clearly unaware that they had garnered an audience.

“What the hell man?”

He grinned, grip tightening slightly, “I got really lucky honestly, someone as beautiful as her being my girlfriend.”

One of the guys seemed to understand what was happening, face dropping, “Hey man— we were just joking.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, “So you don’t think my girlfriend’s beautiful?”

The guy laughed nervously, glancing towards his buddy, who seemed to be opting to stay silent, “Look man, no need to get worked up, okay?”

He smiled, eyes narrowing as he forced a laugh, “Oh don’t worry, I’m not worked up,” He pulled the two closer, “But I would advise you to leave, and keep your mouths shut as you go, yeah?”

Sakura was adding coin after coin, determined to get more points each time, and you wondered if you maybe created a monster, watching as he rolled the ball with too much force.

A loud slam from near the front of the arcade startled you, and you jumped, curiosity making you turn to look, but as you did you bumped into a chest, looking up to see Umemeiya, smiling down at you.

“Got you your drink!” You smiled back, thanking him for the soda, Sakura too caught up in his own competition to notice the new comer.

“What took you so long?” You looked towards the counter, “Oh! What happened?”

There was a wet floor sign, a small pile of damp paper towels on the counter and floor. Ume smiled at you, “Just some guys got startled by something and spilled their drinks. I was helping the worker clean up, and the two ran off.”

That must have been the loud noise, no doubt they were about to get into some type of trouble for their mishap and fled. You nodded, leaning back into his chest, happily sipping your drink.

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…𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇

𝒩𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒾 𝒜𝓀𝒾𝒽𝒾𝓀𝑜

Nirei made sure to pack a bathing suit cover-up for you. He didn't entirely think you needed one, but in case it got breezy or you got sleepy he wanted to make sure he had one handy.

He didn’t have the heart to say he brought it, also, in case someone made you uncomfortable. He trusted his friends and his classmates, but he also knew how strangers could act.

Especially towards a pretty girl at the beach!

He doubts that if a random passer-byer started hitting on you his pill bug technique would come in handy, and he can’t justify allowing any of his classmates throw punches on behalf of his girlfriend.

Well, unless you asked or needed of course. He’d do anything in his realm of possibilities if you asked, and even a few out of it.

“Hiko?” He turned, almost jumping as you drew him from his own thoughts, a gentle smile on your face.

You held out a bottle of water to him, “Umemiya’s handing them out, says to stay hydrated.”

He took it happily, feeling content as you moved to sit next to him, sipping your own water, body relaxed.

“Oh! Kiryuu brought some kites,” He loved watching your eyes light up when you got excited, and he felt himself turn warm, both in his cheeks and his chest, “I thought we could snag one and go fly it later?”

He nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah! The wind seems perfect for that.”

You grinned, agreeing, turning the conversation to chat about other things. As the two of you talked, watching your friends run around and swim, and he took out of his notebooks, jotting down notes and doodles as he observed his classmates.

You glanced over occasionally, curious as to what he was deeming important enough to write in this moment, but kept talking.

“Hey!”

The two of you kept talking, unaware that the yelling being directed at you before, “Hey!”

You jumped, a light dust of sand hitting your legs, both of you looking up to see another random group, a guy and two girls standing near you all. You raised an eyebrow, and Nirei swallowed nervously.

“Can we help you?”

The guy grinned, though it looked more like a leer, while the girls seemed to roll their eyes, hanging behind him, “I was just wondering if you wanted to join us, cutie. Have a fun time instead of sitting here like a loser.”

You felt annoyance flare up in your chest, face dropping as you rolled your eyes, “No.”

The guy laughed, clearly caught off by your response, “C’mon, I promise you I can show you a better time.”

“And I said no, now please, go away.”

His grin faded, looking more annoyed than he had before, though he seemed like he wanted to play it off, “Look, I’m being nice here, there’s no need to be a bitch.”

Nirei glared at him, hot anger licking at his chest, ready to stand up and yell at him, defend you against this asshole.

“You haven’t seen me be a bitch yet,” You replied, sounding bored of the conversation, relaxing back, leaning on your palms, “Like I said. Leave.”

The girls looked torn between laughing at the man’s plight and sneering down at you, and the guy’s face was turning red.

He clicked his tongue, “You can stay here then, enjoying your time with your loser boyfriend. But remember—”

He was cut off, you standing up like a flash, fist flying towards the guys nose, a satisfying crack sounding as he reared back, shouting in pain.

Your punch wasn’t enough to break his nose, and Nirei hated that he was disappointed by that, but there was a steady, thin stream of blood trickling from one nostril.

“What the fuck?”

“I was being nice before,” You snapped, “Now I’m telling you to fuck off.”

The guy sneered at you, though it looked rather pathetic as he cupped his nose, swears and curses falling from his lips, tripping over the sand and his own feet as he walked back to where ever he wandered from, the two girls sending you a shocked look before going after him.

You sat back down, rubbing your knuckles and smiling at Nirei sweetly, as if you hadn’t just punched someone in the face.

“Do you wanna go see about the kite now?”

𝒮𝒶𝓀𝓊𝓇𝒶 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓊𝓀𝒶

Your boyfriend had yet to look at you for more than two seconds. At this rate, it was rather adorable how his face burned red, eyes flittering everywhere but you. You knew your bathing suit would illicit this reaction, one reason you had told him you'd rather meet up at the beach than walk with him and his friends.

Suo had teased your blushing boyfriend a bit before bidding you both a gentle wave, and wandering off with Nirei, leaving the two of you under an umbrella on the sand.

You were applying sunscreen to your arms, debating whether or not you should forcefully apply some to your boyfriend, knowing full well that he didn’t apply nearly enough, or teasing him.

You studied his profile for a moment, the blush hadn’t died down yet. Though, that could be because of the sun, you mused. He seemed to notice your staring, however, and the red intensified.

Ah, still blushing. Cute.

“Haruka,” Your voice was light, singing his name softly, and he tensed, sending you a quick side eye, “You should apply more sunscreen.”

“Huh? I already applied some!” He grew defensive, turning to glare at the bottle in your hand.

You sighed, though a small smile grew on your face, “Not nearly enough.”

“You saying I’m weak?”

You blinked at him, trying to reel in a laugh, lest he think you’re laughing at him, “Love,” He stammered at the pet name, “No one’s tougher than the sun. Or UV rays. Put more on.”

You squeezed some more into your palm, before handing the bottle over to him. You moved, applying more to your arms, as he stared at the bottle, looking between it and you.

“Now.”

He swore quietly, but uncapped the bottle, applying it with the same ferocity as a grumpy toddler. The comparison made you giggle, and you moved to apply the leftover sunscreen on your legs.

He paused in his actions, unbeknownst to you, watching you with intense rapt. You were humming quietly to yourself, some kitschy pop song. He glanced over you, noticing one guy having turned, staring at your legs, unblinking.

He felt himself grow rather… angry? Frustrated, maybe. Why was that guy staring? His silence and stillness drew your attention, and you looked at him, trying to follow his gaze. You made eye contact with the stranger, and he winked, shamelessly.

Rolling your eyes, your lips curled into a disgusted sneer, “Pervert.”

“I’ll kick his ass.”

You hummed again, amused at your boyfriend’s automatic protective nature, “No, you won’t.”

“Wha,” He turned to look at you, incredulously, “He’s— he’s just staring at you! And he winked at you!”

“And I have absolutely no interest in him, or his stupid wink,” You mimicked the way came out of his mouth like it was a swear.

“It’s cause of your bathing suit!”

You blinked at him, voice dropping rather dangerously, “Pardon?”

He seemed to realize he said something wrong, though you doubt he knew exactly what it was he said that was wrong. You couldn’t blame him entirely, his knowledge of relationships was still very limited, and you knew this.

“I just—” He stammered, mouth fluttering open and shut, trying to find what to say, “You look— and he’s staring because— it’s,” He motioned to your body, and you raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to come to his own conclusion, “You look too good!”

You couldn’t cover the snort that escaped, trying not to laugh at your boyfriend’s worries. He glared at you, offended by the noise.

“They can stare all they want because I,” You took his hand into yours, enjoying how his frustration faded at the drop of a hat, face immediately reddening once more, “Am at the beach with my adorable boyfriend. Besides, if he tries anything I don’t need you to kick his ass for me, I can do that myself.”

Face still red, he turned away, facing the waves, voice a bit quieter as he spoke, “You’re not a fighter.”

“I don’t have to be a fighter to crack a bottle of ramune over his head,” To prove your point you reached over him, hiding your amusement as he yelped, grabbing a bottle and working it open, “Not many people can bounce back from that.”

You took a sip, maintaining eye contact with Sakura, his cheeks still red, but his eyes widened. It was silent between you two for a moment before—

“Jesus, okay. You can defend yourself.” You smiled, shifting to cuddle closer to him, allowing him a moment to gather his bearings as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders in response, muttering something that vaguely sounded like scary under his breath.

༺═────────────═༻

…𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒶 𝒽𝑜𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒹𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔

𝐻𝒾𝓇𝒶𝑔𝒾 𝒯𝑜𝓂𝒶

There were times when Hiragi wondered if you were an angel sent to him, or another demon sent his way. This was one of the times where he thought that you may be a demon, though you were as pretty as an angel. He wishes he had packed more of his gaskun10.

"Hiragi," Your voice was light as you called out to him, a small pout on your lips as you held your hand out, "You promised me a board-walk trip."

Despite the previous feeling, he smiled, standing up and brushing sand off of his shorts, wandering your way, "I did, didn't I?"

You grinned up at him, squeezing his hand once he placed it in yours, all but leading him away from the group, prattling on about the different pop-up shops that had appeared this summer you wanted to check out.

Your excitement had you distracted, torn between talking to Hiragi and looking at your shirtless boyfriend, admiring him in the summer light. He understood, not teasing you on your staring for once, listening with half an ear as he, too, was distracted by your beach outfit. You had gone out shopping with Kotoha and Tsubaki, and elected on surprising you with your pick.

He wasn't, however, too distracted to note the looks being sent your way. You were a pretty girl; beautiful, perfect, in his eyes, and he knew he wasn't the only one who shared this sentiment. Several guys were staring as you two walked, eyes trailing up from top to bottom, before flickering over to him. He was glad none were stupid enough to step forward, he'd rather not cause a scene at the beach.

There were also, surprising to him, a few girls staring, well he should say glaring your way. He could see the judgment stemming off of them from miles away, looking between the both of you with disdain. It made him click his tongue, annoyed with the vastly different responses being sent your way.

You sensed the small shift in his mood, eyebrows furrowing as you paused your rambling to study him, "Everything okay?"

He looked down at you, "You just look stunning."

Giggling, you turned your attention forward once more, "I'm well aware of that."

His eye roll was nothing short of affectionate, no snark or annoyance in his expression as you two continued walking.

“You’re also ridiculous,” He added, and you threw your head back and laughed.

“That I am also well aware of,” You grinned, and he was once again reminded of the demon analogy, “But you love me.”

He sighed, “I do,” Probably too much to be healthy, but that was neither here nor there.

In all honesty, he was rather used to onlookers, well, looking. You were always loud in your own way, drawing attention and awe where ever you went. It was one reason you and Tsubakino got along as well as you did.

It didn’t help the level of stress he felt, wanting nothing more than to shield your body or fight those looking at you, but he knew you wouldn’t want that. Unless absolutely necessary, but more often than not his presence kept those situations away.

“Come on,” You stood on your tip toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “Let’s go get some snacks!”

𝒞𝒽𝑜𝒿𝒾 𝒯𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓎𝒶𝓂𝒶

"Hey! Hey! You put sunscreen on right? Kame-chan kept bugging me about it so I thought to make sure you put some on!"

You blinked your eyes open, peering up at your boyfriend, hair soaked and plastered against his head from where he had been all but running through the waves. Smiling, you sat up, moving your sunglasses on top of your head.

"Yes Choji, I've got sunscreen on," You saw Togame floating in the water a few yards away, relaxing in the waves, "I'm glad Togame made sure you re-applied yours."

He pouted at your words, "He got sand stuck on my face because of it."

His childlike annoyance had you laughing, and he brightened at the sound, moving to grab your hand, working to drag you up onto your feet.

"C'mon! Let's get in the water!"

You allowed yourself to be pulled up, his energy contagious, "You were just in the water," Your argument held no real bite, letting your overzealous boyfriend drag you to the waves.

"But not with you!"

Your feet hit the water, and you shrieked at the sudden coldness lapping against you. He laughed at your response, turning to run full speed towards Togame, splashing his relaxing friend with a face full of water.

You rolled your eyes, slowly going further into the water, getting used to the coolness against your skin. Choji swam around you and Togame, going back and forth between splashing you lightly and seeming like he was trying to drown his friend. Togame was fighting back, laughing while dunking your boyfriend under the water.

There were some fish swimming around, little things flitting between the people, and you watched, relaxing in the water as Choji swam after them. Togame wadded over, and the two of you started talking, light conversation as Choji swam a bit away, closer to another group that was hanging out nearby.

The fish had all gotten away, and he decided to float for a bit, facing the sun with a relaxed smile on his face. That was until he heard the conversation from the people near.

"Seriously, I'd never let my girl in public like that. She should be covered up."

"Doesn't she know all she's gonna do is draw attention to herself?"

There was some mumbling, a few choice words being passed around, and the once relaxing float was less so now. He moved, eyes narrowing at the group, ready to open his mouth or throw a fist, when he heard you calling his name, you and Kame waving him back over.

He debated for a moment, what would be more important, before deciding that these guys were just idiots. And you all were having such a good time, he could fight them later. So he swam back over, launching himself at you once he was close enough. You caught him, as you always did.

He began peppering your face with kisses, ignoring the joking eye-roll Kame sent their way.

"You look amazing, you know this right?"

You giggled at his antics, pushing his face away softly, "Yes, you've told me a hundred times in the past few hours."

He huffed, "You're the prettiest girl at this beach! In this whole town! You always look so amazing!"

His fluttering kisses tickled lightly, and you were giggling uncontrollably, trying to stop him like you would an over excited puppy. He finally moved back, still floating close to you, smiling wide.

“What was that about?”

His head tilted, looking like a confused puppy to you, when in reality he was debating whether or not to tell you what he overheard.

If you were upset or hurt or offended he’d turn around in a heart beat, fists at the ready. He’d finish them all off quickly, wash their blood from his fists in the water, the salt may sting, but it’d be worth it.

But he thought on it, something Ume-chan told him he should practice, and came to the conclusion that you’d more than likely roll your eyes and laugh. You often did whenever snide comments made their way to you, even way before you two were dating.

You dressed how you liked, and no one’s comments seemed to affect you. You were happy with your outfits, and often said, “That’s all that matters,” with that sweet smile of yours.

So he just smiled, eyes closing as he grinned, “I just love you!”

A/N: I am not a fan! Of how I wrote some of these! >.< So sorry! I have never written for some of these characters and I worry it shows! ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ALSO I CUT SOME CHARACTERS OUT! I RAN OUT OF IDEAS AND DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO WRITE SOME OF THEM! I’M SO SORRY!

[dionysianivy]

𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐧

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙣 𝙀𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙭 🌾🍎🕯

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

What is Mabon?

Mabon, celebrated around September 21 to September 29, marks the autumnal equinox and the second harvest of the year. It’s a time of balance, as the hours of light and dark stand equal, symbolizing the transition between summer and winter. It's a time when witches and practitioners honor the changing seasons, express gratitude for the Earth's abundance, and connect with the energies of balance and transition. The term "Mabon" for this celebration is named after Mabon ap Modron, a character from Welsh mythology. It is often associated with the mythological theme of the abducted and imprisoned child who later becomes a hero, which parallels the changing seasons.

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Who is Mabon Ap Modron?

Mabon ap Modron, also known as Maponus, is a character from Welsh mythology. In some versions of the myth, Mabon is portrayed as a divine hero or a child who was abducted from his mother, Modron, and imprisoned. He is rescued after 3 years and plays a significant role in Welsh mythological tales. The name "Mabon" itself means "son" or "young man" in Welsh, and it is connected to the theme of rebirth and the return of the light.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Hades × Persephone and the Autumn Equinox

Legend has it that on the last day of summer, Hades, the god of the Underworld, saw Persephone picking flowers in a field. He immediately fell in love with her and abducted her, wanting to keep her by his side as the queen of the dead. Upon discovering the disappearance of her daughter, Demeter, the goddess of harvest, set out to find her. Unable to locate Persephone, Demeter’s sorrow and despair were so overwhelming that the flowers, trees, and all vegetation withered, bringing all growth on Earth to a halt. The gods of Olympus, who were powerless to ignore the prayers of humans, reached a compromise with Hades regarding Persephone’s return. She would spend only six months each year with Hades in the Underworld. To avenge herself, Demeter decreed that during those six months, nature would mourn, and nothing would grow on Earth until Persephone ascended again from the Underworld.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Magical Correspondences

Planets: Sun, Mercury

Season: Autumn 

Element: Water 

Time of Day: Dusk

Tarot: The Hermit 

Colors: Brown, Maroon, Red, Orange, Purple, Yellow, Gold

Herbs: Rosemary, Sage, Thyme, Chamomile, Cedarwood, Juniper, Mugwort, Dried Apple

Fruits: Grapes, Apples, Pears, Plums, Blackberry, Pomegranates

Vegetables: Carrots, Corn, Onions, Pumpkin, Squash

Runes: Dagaz, Inguz, Eihwaz, Jera

Crystals: Amethyst, Agate, Citrine, Tiger's Eye, Amber, Yellow Topaz

Trees: Apple, Oak, Aspen, Cedar

Goddesses: Pomona, Demeter, Epona, Inanna, Ishtar, Kore, Modron, the Morrigan, Persephone, Banbha, Autumnus, Hestia

Gods: Dionysus, Mabon ap Modron, Hades, Dumuzi, the Green Man, Hermes, Thoth, Cernunnos, Osiris, Freyr

Flowers: Marigold, Chrysanthemum, Aster

Animals: Deer, Dog, Wolf, Blackbird, Squirrel, Salmon, Swan

Magical uses: Abundance, Accomplishment, Agriculture, Balance, Goals, Gratitude, Grounding, Harvest, New Beginnings, Reflection

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Activities to do:

🍎 create your own Cornucopia

🍎 make a special Mabon jar

🍎 bake an autumn recipe

🍎 eat apple pie

🍎 harvest your garden

🍎 light a bonfire and dance or tell stories with your loved ones around it

🍎 do a guided meditation to welcome the new season

🍎 clean your garden

🍎 listen to Mabon music on Youtube or Spotify(there are plenty of playlist you can find!)

🍎 spend time with your deity/deities

🍎 grab some autumn flowers and bring them into your home

🍎 rest and relax♡

🍎 read about Mabon

🍎 clean your house to prepare for the season

🍎 take a walk outside to connect with nature and be grateful for the summer that has passed and warmly welcome the beauty of autumn

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Food and Drinks:

apple pie, apple cider, wine, grapes, root vegetables, apples, cornbread, baked good made from wheat or grains, cakes with cinnamon or nutmeg, roasted meat, pork chops, mashed potatoes, peach jams, fruit tarts, apples in all forms, pumpkin pie

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

useful sources: Magie Blanche by Eric Pier Sperandio

gifs credit: Pinterest

Tip jar🍎🌾

[wildrungarden]

4/3/24 ~ Atomic Grape progress 🌱🍅

featuring Martin hair 🐈

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[luveline]

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

[thecupidwitch]

Moon Magick

What Is A Moon Magick?

In many cultures around the world, practitioners have used the position of the moon, as well as the phases of the moon in their practice. Each phase of the moon is perfect for certain types of magickal workings. Not all witches depend on the particular moon phase. Many develop their own methods and techniques through trial and error to find out what works best. Those that do use the timing of the moon do so by choosing the moon phase most conducive to their magickal workings. This gives their magickal workings some extra lunar energy boost.

Correspondences:

Associated deities: Isis, Diana, Artemis, Morrigan, Holda, Nyx, Nephtys, Sedna, Lilith, baba, Yaga, Kali, Aphrodite, Freya, Ishtr, Hathor, Selena, Oshun, Perspephone, Flora, Cerridwen, Gaia, Epona, Yemanja, Rhiannon, Khonsu, Inanna, Hecate, ...ect

Animals: owls, rabbits, wolves, deer, cats, moths, bats, spiders, raccoons, opossum, cows, frogs, dogs, crabs, whippoorwill, panther

Crystals/Stones: moonstone, selenite, obsidian, silver, mother-of-pearl, aquamarine, gold beryl, topaz, emerald, clear quartz, coral, pearls

Moon Associations: Shadow work, Protection, Meditation, Journaling, Introspection, Strength , Love, Beauty, Manifesting, To attract new things, Purification, Letting go, celebrate your accomplishments, letting go, goal setting, banishing

Plants and Herbs: vervain, moonflower, jasmine, lemon balm, cabbage, camellia, camphor, chickweed, moonwort, gardenia, grape, lemon, passion flower, turnip, potato, pea, cucumber, pear, peach, willow, poppy, mountain ash, mango, wallflower, rowan, cactus

Moon Phases

New Moon

This is the crescent Moon when see the first peak of light, this is a time of newness, the beginning of relationships, the beginning of a new venture, the energy of this phase promotes new beginnings on any level. This is the time for change and for being open to, and looking for new opportunities, tilling the soil and planting seeds actually, and the seeds of ideas.

Waxing Moon

The Moon is beginning to gain strength as it grows in size, and goes from a new to a full Moon, this is a perfect time for growth and increasing things, growth within a relationship, financial growth, a time for learning and gaining knowledge.

If someone is thinking about pregnancy, this is a time of fertility, and it is an exceptional time for communication, in a business matter, or within a relationship. This is also an auspicious time for any legal matters, especially those where finances are concerned, if a healing spell, or healing of any type is needed, this is the time.

Waxing Gibbous

During the phase of the Gibbous Waxing Moon anything to do with increase is compatible; this is a good time for minor magic as the lunar energy is waning.

Full Moon

The full Moon is the most powerful phase, this is when the Moon is seen in its glorious fullness, this is a time of enlightenment and heightened psychic awareness. It is a time when everything comes together, it is a time of ideas, also a time of commitment, to a person, idea or project. It is also a time of family, and or friends coming together, any spell is well aspected during this phase of the Moon.

Waning Gibbous

The Waning Gibbous Moon  is suitable for rituals associated with letting go, and banishing,  if it is time to clear out the old and prepare for the new, this is the Moon phase to spell craft with.

Waning Moon

As the Moon decreases in size, it goes from full to dark, and this is a time of letting go, it is also a time of completion. If you have been wanting to change something in your life, this is the perfect time.

It is also a time of ending anything that doesn’t work in your life, this may be a habit, a relationship, or paying attention to issues  associated with legal matters, this is a time to pay attention to anything that you have been procrastinating about

Moon Water

Moon water is very similar to Sun water. But rather than being charged by the sun, it’s charged by the moon. Moon water can be useful for helping boost the energy of a spell, to help an intention grow, protect and to cleanse a space.

Instructions:

Get a glass bottle

Fill it with any type of water.

Leave the bottle with water out in the moonlight for a whole night.

[01zfan]

twelve grapes | l. at

bestfriend!anton x reader | 4.5k words

this put me in an anton mood unfortunately

contains: best friends to lovers, new years eve traditions, missionary, love confessions

“it’s me.” you said to the door.

you didn’t even have to knock before the door was opened. you were greeted with a smiling anton. you smiled back, looking down at the ground for a moment.

“come in.” anton whispered, opening his door wider for you.

you walk in but anton left the door open. you saw that on his bed there was a child sleeping. it was usually like this at your joint family parties. one room would become the unofficial coatcheck and the other would be the designated room for sleeping babies. anton’s room was always the place of choice for babies to lay their heads down. he had a way with kids, they gravitated towards him and they always took a liking to his soft voice. his height was an advantage too, kids enjoyed climbing him and being on his shoulders as he walked through the house.

“one second. i’m gonna put him in the room down the hall.” anton said and he lumbered onto the bed.

you stayed in his room while anton carefully scooped the sleeping child into his arms to take them into a separate room. when he returned he closed the door behind him. you two stayed there for a moment, just looking at one another. 

everyone in your life started to notice the looks. they’d bump your shoulders while mentioning the stutter anton would have or how light and airy your voice would get. you weren’t sure if these statements had any validity. there were always comments about you and anton’s relationship. you two were kids, growing up together because your parents were close friends. you remember as a child anton’s parents jokingly saying you two have to get married so your two families would finally be related. you made a sour face and so did anton. at your age, boys were yucky and to anton, so were girls. you both decided you didn’t like each other like that when you kissed on the playground underneath the jungle gym. it was a quick peck, you both pulling away and shaking your heads. you two were still close, becoming your own people up side by side. you both went through so much change growing up but being by the others side remained the same.

lately though, there was something in the air. maybe it was the holidays and your weariness that came with the cold weather. but the way anton would look at you recently made you bashful, always compelled to look away or brush hair behind your ear. anton turned into a charming and handsome young man right in front of your eyes. he still kept the same soft voice and kindness you had as children, something you admired. you wanted to ignore the feelings but the way he would compliment you started making you sheepish. when something looked particularly good on him you would feel hot in the face, embarrassed for no reason. you found yourself sometimes thinking back to that kiss on the playground. when you were kids you guys simply just went back to playing, never bringing it up again. if that happened now, you believe that your body would burst into flames.

seeing both your families look at you knowingly validated your feelings, but regardless it was prying. you also didn’t want the comments to get to your head or ruin what you and anton had. it was special having someone in your life understand you the way anton did. you didn’t want to lose it, which is why you were happy you and anton were away from your two families as the party went on downstairs.

without prying eyes and knowing glances, it was very comfortable. conversation with anton had always flowed easily, both of you having similar senses of humor. occasionally during a joke you would hit his solid arm lightly, or he would put his hand on your thigh. it would linger there for a second before he would pull it away. feelings you had to beat to death with a stick stirred over your skin, but you were able to continue the conversations. before you knew it you guys talked half the night away.

sometime during the night, your family went home. something about an early morning the next day. you were able to convince them to let you stay under the guise of watching the ball drop, but what you really wanted was to be with anton. 

his parents were funny about the new year. every time they would rave about staying awake to watch the ball drop, being able to ease into the new year. what actually always ended up happening was that they would be knocked out on the couch watching the new years eve show. every year, anton would take a picture of his parents sleeping into the new year.

you and anton also almost missed the new year until he checked his phone.

“wow. time is flying.” anton said. 

you looked at the time. it was ten minutes until the new year.

“did you bring the grapes?” anton asks.

you smile at the mention of your silly little tradition. even though you and anton have never been to spain, every year you found yourselves crowded underneath a table on new years eating twelve grapes. it was believed to bring you good luck and good fortune, but you were never the type to believe in that type of stuff. each year though, you had anton by your side. you think that’s good fortune on its own. so you humored him each year—you supplied the grapes and he supplied the table.

“i left them downstairs in the fridge.” you said.

anton stood up his seat on the floor and you stood up from his bed. he went towards his bedroom door and you followed.

“let’s go get them. but be quiet so we don’t wake up my parents.” anton said, putting a finger to his lips.

the new years eve television special was blaring on the speakers, so loud you could’ve ran down the stairs at full speed and it wouldn’t down out the sound of the announcers on the screen. but you and anton loved tradition, so you snuck down the stairs the same way you did as children. anton leaned against his wall comically as he snuck down and you did the same.

you held hands often as children. it was always for reason, like if the other wasn’t moving fast enough or if you were scared. so when anton grabbed your hand for no reason as you snuck downstairs you thought you would stumble down the steps. but you let your hand rest inside of anton’s as you mirrored his footsteps so the stairs wouldn’t creak.

you guys successfully retrieved the grapes and two bowls, sneaking your way back upstairs. you didn’t let go of eachother’s hands once, not until anton led you underneath a table in his room. you both struggled to fit underneath the table, laughing at anton’s attempt to make his large body compact.

“i can’t believe we’ve been doing this since we were kids.” you say wistfully.

you open up the container of grapes in between the two of you. anton takes the time to inspect each grape before dropping it into your bowl, making sure it’s one of the firm and sweet ones. anton has always done this each year, while he just grabbed the first twelve for himself, not caring what they looked like.

“so much has changed since then, hasn’t it?” anton said lightly.

“we’re still the same.” you hum, nodding your head. 

it was hard to try and seem nonchalant sitting so close next to anton. even while he was sitting underneath the table he was taller than you, his head brushing the top of the table. you were light in the head being able to smell anton, to look at him so close. have his eyelashes always been this wispy? his cheeks looked so soft you were compelled to close what little space was left between the two of you to feel his skin. but you focused on grabbing the crispy and sweet grapes with a shaky hand.

anton was happy that you were enveloped in tasting the grapes. if you were focused on other things, he would have time to calm down his heart that was beating like a bird. he couldn’t even reach for his own grapes, too scared his shaking hand would give away the confession that was on his lips. each time you looked at him he was suddenly nervous. anton was already the shy type and the way you had him only made everything worse.

you both could hear the counting on the television upstairs as you each ate a grape, saying each month of the new year between each one. anton was able to take a grape with you, having to move his hand to rest on his knee to hide the shaking. when you get to the final month, the ball drops. you can hear it downstairs and you look at anton’s digital clock above his bed to doublecheck. it’s officially another year that you have started with anton.

“happy new year.” you say, finishing the last grape.

“happy new year.” anton says back to you. 

his voice sounds far off like he’s thinking about something. his focus goes all over your face, lingering on your eyes before stopping completely looking at your lips. you scooted closer to him. you found yourself staring at his lips too. you cleared your throat to point at his bowl filled with grapes.

“anton you barely ate any of your—“

you were cut off mid sentence by anton closing the gap between your bodies. you could barely process what happened before anton gently pressed his lips to yours. your eyes fluttered shut. you could feel his soft lips, tasting sweet like fruit. as fast as he placed his lips on yours he pulled back from you. 

your eyes snapped wide open in shock trying to process what had just happened. you had a million things rushing through your mind, the overwhelming need to tell him about his plump lips rested on your lips. you were there, frozen like a statue watching the red creep across anton’s face.

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have done that. i just thought—there was this feeling i’ve had about you lately i thought it was mutual.” anton said.

the red creeped to his ears as he rambled to you. immediately you should’ve said something, quelling his worries of making a move. but you selfishly gave yourself a moment to bask in the feeling of mutual pining. you sunbathed in validation, all the fleeting looks and sudden touches made sense. you put your hand over anton’s. he stopped his rambling to look at you in the eyes.

“i like you too,” you say, smiling. “and we can talk about it later, but right now i really want you to kiss me again.”

anton goes back in to kiss you. this time he lets himself fully relax into you, and you pull him in by his sweater. he’s so close you can feel his hair resting on your forehead and his nose bumps yours every time you tilt your head to get a better angle. being with anton already doesn’t feel like the first time, finding a comfortable rhythm in the kisses. you think for a second that he knows you so well he’s completely tuned into your kisses, when you’ll tilt your head or when you need a breath of fresh air. you never want to break apart from him.

you listen to the sounds of your lips making contact fill the room. you’ve dreamed of this, having anton’s hand on your face so he can kiss you deeper. it’s not long before you let the kiss turn into something more desperate. you let your tongue come out and swipe across his lip. it’s a bold move on your end, one that anton responds to instantly. he prods his tongue into your mouth, tilting your head to feel the inside of your cheek. the kisses turn messy, you bring a hand to the nape of his neck to pull at his hair. 

anton’s other hand rests on your hip. he’s so close to your ass, you both know it. anton still has his reservations, how far you’ll let him go before he wakes up from this dream. but he is taking to paradise when you lean your body towards his, lifting your ass so he can rest his hand on there fully. he squeezes his hand into the pocket of your jeans and you moan feeling the pressure of his fingers against you.

anton was already a jumpy person. he blames it on his anxiety, always putting him in a fight or flight mode. but when you moan into the kiss he nearly leaps out of his skin. his head hits the bottom of the table with such force that the things on top of it shake. you look at him wide eyed asking if he’s okay, but anton is only focused on getting you to make that sound again. the way you look at him with large doe eyes and glossy lips has him thinking about all the time he wasted not kissing you. if anton had known how badly you wanted him he would’ve made a move a long time ago. but he doesn’t want to focus on the past. right now, you had a fully exposed neck and you two had all the time in the world.

you’re still worried about the possible brain damage anton might’ve faced when he brings his thumb to swipe across your lip.

“you’re lips are so soft.” anton whispers. “and they taste like grapes.”

before you can come close to anton again he’s leaning back into you. instead of your lips, he rests his face in the crook of your neck. he kisses the skin there repeatedly, getting sloppier and sloppier with each kiss. when he takes in your skin and sucks on it, you let out a gasp. anton uses his hand in your back pocket and his other one to guide your back to the floor. the change in position has excitement taking over. you never thought you would have anton hovering over you giving you a hickey on your skin. anton takes his hand out of your pocket and tucks his fingers underneath the waistline of your jeans. you take your hands underneath his sweater, feeling his bare body.

anton moves to the other side of your neck. you get the quickest glance at him before he retreats into the crook of your neck. his eyes are big and blown out and you lift your hips so your stomach touches his. anton’s hand supports your arch, using all of his strength to keep your bodies pressed against on another. he starts using teeth when sucking on your skin and you moan again.

“i love that sound so much.” anton says.

you moan again. hearing anton abandon his shyness so he could shamelessly flirt with you had you making sounds you didn’t know you could make. anton lets his hand hover over your shirt, resting on your chest. he moves your breast around in a circular motion. you need to be out of your clothes already, feeling anton inside of you. but patience is a virtue, so you let him feel you up like hormonal teenagers.

“so pretty. i’ve always wondered what you sounded like.” anton whispers against the skin of your neck. 

“does it sound good?” you ask.

“it’s better than what i ever could’ve imagined.”

he grips the fabric over your breast a little tighter and you arch into him. you can no longer take the teasing. you make quick work of the button and zipper on your jeans. you do the same to anton, using your hands to clumsily push his pants down. anton gets the hint, smiling before letting your back down gently. he moves beside you and you both careless take off your jeans. you stay in your underwear and anton keeps his boxers on. anton lets his eyes study your legs, how you bend them self consciously as anton looks at your panties. he’s rock hard in his pants and he needs you to know it.

anton takes your hand and places it over the growing bulge in his boxers. 

“you’re so hard.” you say.

“it’s because of you.” anton says.

his voice is still so soft as he speaks to you, sounding even more airy due to his arousal. now he’s the one gasping underneath your touch, his sweater is suddenly too hot for him. he takes it off as you wrap your hand against his shaft. you hold it firmly and anton almost bucks into your hand.

“do you have a condom?” you ask. 

you sit up, taking off your sweater too. you’re left in your bra and panties as anton springs up from underneath the table to go to his bedside table. if you two had any sense you’d move to the bed, but urgency is on the forefront of your minds. you need him right here, right now, and anton can’t wait another second.

anton grabs the tinfoil package and settles back onto the ground next to you. you both move to your side, taking the moment to bring in your nearly naked bodies. you are in that lacy bra looking like god sent you down here himself, and anton’s body has you speechless. you had seen it before growing up, but the intent now made all the difference. you bring a hand to trace from his navel to his chest then back down again. he takes your breasts in his hand, kneading your skin over the bra. he’s enthralled by the way you spill over the cup of the bra.

“i can’t believe it.” anton murmurs.

“me neither.” you say. 

you’re arching your back into his touch and you bring a hand behind you to undo the bra. instantly it loosens and anton helps you out of it. he can’t stop staring at your breats, the way your boobs sit pretty on your chest. anton reaches a hand towards them before pausing.

“can i?” he asks.

“please. i need you to touch me so bad.” you say.

your eyes are closed when anton finally touches you. he squeezes the flesh gently, before realizing you need it to be a little rougher. his actions are no longer timid when he moves to the other breast. he takes the nipple into his mouth and you let out the loudest gasp. this doesn’t stop anton, only eggs him on to suck a little harder. you tweak the nipple of the other breast with your hand, and anton only has to watch. you for a second before he’s doing the same thing. 

you help anton go back to his position on top of you. your leg ends up slotting between his and you can feel his dick poking your thigh. anton looks up at you from your chest and slowly grinds his length on your thigh. it’s thick and rests heavy on your leg. you can already feel a wet spot in his boxers where precum is seeping through. you’re sure your the same way, squirming in your panties that are becoming uncomfortable.

“anton.” you whine.

he perks up to look at you, he lets your breast fall from his mouth with a lewd pop. he wipes below his lip, where some of his spit came out.

“what’s wrong?” anton asks. he places a kiss on the nipple he didn’t suck.

“i can’t wait any longer.”

anton uses his hand to guide his dick to your entrance. you can feel the girth of its blunt head. you bring in a shaky breath. the suspense is making you antsy.

“tell me if it’s too much and i’ll pull out, okay?” anton says.

his fucked out expression is replaced with one of worry. you nod your head, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders. you try to relax, letting out the breath.

“i’m ready.”

“okay.” anton says.

he lets go of his guiding hand and brings it to yours. his grabs your hand, holding it the same way he did leading you down the stairs. anton places a kiss on your forehead and you try to kiss him back. you are too enchanted by feeling him sink into you. 

“so big.” you gasp.

“i know. can you take it?” anton asks. his voice is barely above a whisper, as he sinks further into you. 

anton means it as a genuine question, anxious that he may not fit all the way inside of you with no prep. it’s a question filled with worry, but the borderline mocking question mixed with his airy voice has you opening your legs a little wider. he’s teasing you without meaning to, and anton is a feels the way you react to his innocent question..

he is big, but your arousal makes it easier for you to take all of it. anton loses more and more of his composure the deeper he goes in. when your pelvises touch you clench around him. he lets out the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard and drops his head into the crook of your neck.

you can’t control the clenching. he presses gently against your insides, each time you clamp around him you swear you can feel every ridge and vein. it’s not long before you both are whimpering messes, feeling the euphoria of sex.

“can i move?” anton asks. 

he tries his hardest to keep his voice clear but it’s meek, weakened by ecstasy.

“yes, please.” you whimper.

anton listens, bringing himself out all the way slowly before sinking back in just as slow. being able to feel every inch of him again has you digging nails into his shoulder. anton loves the pain and he grips your hip to thrust a little harder. he kisses your forehead again and he’s captivated by the sight of your face contorting in pleasure and the way your chest jumps when he gives you harder and faster thrusts. he can’t control running off at the mouth.

“i’ve waited so long for this.” anton groans. 

“how long?” you say. 

your voice hitches in the middle of your sentence when anton hits you with a harder thrust. you both moan into eachothers mouths when he hits that spot deep inside of you.

“so long.” anton says. “you have no idea.”

he wants to tell you about the winter formal last year where that red dress complimented your skin perfectly. anton was swooning over you the whole night, having to make up excuses why he was so red in the face. he felt like someone from the middle ages, weakened by the sight of your bare shoulder. anton spent the whole night trying not to imagine taking your dress off of you, kissing all over your body.  when you danced with him he had to leave a gap between the two of you, afraid that if you got to close he’d faint. 

you had no idea about the nights anton would think about your lips, the way you talked to him and looked up to him when he was alone. his yearning had turning into something more, something he thought he’d never get.

but now here you were, naked on his floor with him on top of you. anton couldn’t believe you were here with him, clenching around his length uncontrollably while he moaned into your mouth. you leaned into his touch bending your leg to wrap around his waist. it was a alight change but the new angle had anton seeing stars.

“you feel so good.” anton said. 

it was almost like he couldn’t believe it. he was hitting you deeper and faster, his hand now leaving gripping the skin of your thigh to help support your leg.

“touch me anton.” you whimper. 

“where do you need me?” he asks.

you wordlessly grab his hand, leading it to your clit. anton gets what you need immediately, tenderly rubbing the bundle of nerves. you pull him in so close by his shoulders that his arm becomes wedged between your two bodies. anton remains constant with his motions, finding a rhythm that leaves you repeating his name breathlessly. anton increases his speed when you your words come out jumbled and in a hurry. anton understands your close, because he understands everything about you. he understands why you like the music you like, why you eat the food you eat, why you watch the movies you watch. he finds himself looking down between the two of you, your taut skin reacting to his every movement. 

“give me your hand baby.” anton says. 

his hand that was holding your thigh goes to yours. you clench it, nails digging into the back of his hand. anton goes back to s slower pace. he needs to see you come undone underneath you, he needs to draw out everything he hasn’t been able to get from you.

you don’t get the chance to tell anton you’re close. it comes slowly but it swallows your whole body. anton’s fluid thrusts prolong the feeling, and his hand on your clit intesifies everything. the knuckles on your hand turn white from the grip you have on anton. he doesn’t complain, he instead whimpers into you, smushing his cheek against yours as his thrusts start becoming staggered. your leg around his waist locks him in place as he gives you on final thrust. you feel anton throbbing in you and he gasps into the crook of your neck that he’s cumming. you continue to moan, driving both your bodies to keep going. 

there’s something to be said about the two of you cumming together without planning it. the word ‘soulmate’ and the phrase ‘i love you’ sits on both of your tongues as your chests heave from exertion. anton pulls out of you, tying the condom on his dick off before letting himself fall beside you. 

both of you two stare at the bottom of the table, trying to process what just happened. you still try catching your breath when you turn your head to see anton already looking at you. his face is flushed, red splotches across his skin and his hair is unbelievably mused. he smiles at you before leaning over and wiping away a tear you didn’t even know was there. after that brief look, both of your gazes go back to the bottom of the table.

you feel anton creep his hand into yours, slow and timid. out of the corner of your eye you see him still looking at the table, with a worried expression on his face. you grab his hand and squeeze it, letting him know you’re real and you’re right there with him. your relationship with anton will never be the same, and you like it that way.

thank yew for reading! here is my ko-fi if you wanted to support me further!

[llamagoddessofficial]

For the bad Sanses, if their SO would want to grow old and die, would they respect that?

Agh... well. Short answer? No. Long answer? No, absolutely not.

Horror, I think, would come the closest to actually respecting your decision. He has Papyrus to support him so he wouldn't have to go through it completely alone. He's experienced a lot of loss, and he knows the pain of seeing people you love hang around long after they should've gone, deteriorating into someone you hardly recognise. But also... he's just really not in the right frame of mind to let you go. Horror does not love in halves and the thought of losing you is like a point-blank shot to the Soul. If you bring it up, best reaction you'll get is him being confused and then pretending you didn't even talk about it, and the worst is a full smashing-things-flipping-tables-throwing-chairs meltdown. You might get a better response from Papyrus. He'll try to mediate. Perhaps give it a few years, once he's had time to ease.

If you press Dust about it, he will give you an ultimatum. If you really, really want to grow old and die, the relationship is over. You can die, if you like. But don't expect him to watch. He knows that when you go, part of him goes too, and at least this way his time feeling warm and whole again ends on his terms. He can sink back into the dark by choice. You get your wish, but you'll never see him again. He'll be pretty sour grapes about it (and about you) if you do end up choosing to die. As far as he's concerned you chose your mortality over him. He doesn't respect it or understand why. He feels abandoned and betrayed... and he refuses to reminisce positively on something that hurts so much to think about. Someone bringing up your name is enough to start a brawl.

Killer doesn't understand. You want to die? You want to leave him behind? You want him to be alone again - how could you say that? You don't mean that. If you hold your ground and tell him you really mean it, he'll tell you he's fine with it, but he's a bald-faced liar. Whilst Dust is bitter, Killer is shattered; he really thought he found someone who would stay by his side no matter what. The rug has gone out from under him. Now he's facing the prospect of being utterly alone again, surrounded only by the voices that still taunt him even now. He fully retreats into his own head... he acts like he's silly and fine, but his Soul has never been more red. You'll never see his white eyelights again.

Nightmare... uh, no. Sorry. He laughs it off like you're a kid telling him you want to eat a billion cookies. He thinks he knows better than you, in this regard, you don't really want to die, you'll understand in a few hundred years. He's a reasonable lover in most aspects but this is one of few things he doesn't budge on. Part and parcel of being a God's beloved, I'm afraid. D'aw, you want to grow old and die? Sure he'll let you. Aren't you cute. Just don't pay attention to how wrinkles never form on your skin. I'm sure it's nothing.